


Get a medic, get a bandaid

by SuperImposed



Series: Kinkfills: Noncon Edition [7]
Category: Homestuck, MS Paint Adventures
Genre: M/M, Non Consensual, Rape, Seriously there is some BAD NEWS triggery shit in here, Underage Sex, noncon, stabwoundfucking, why do i write such terrible things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-28
Updated: 2012-07-28
Packaged: 2017-11-10 21:41:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/470998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuperImposed/pseuds/SuperImposed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Another meme fill: "Bro didn't die immediately when Noir stabbed him. And for most of the time he laid there bleeding out, he was still conscious and could see everything happening. And when Noir realized that, he decided to go a step further than just beating Davesprite down in front of him - he decided to rape him.</p><p>I'd like the focus to be on Bro's horror about the situation and at his helplessness to protect Davesprite."</p><p>Original fill here: http://homesmut.livejournal.com/14212.html?thread=25686404#t25686404</p><p>Writing is chopped up due to original posting, sorry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Get a medic, get a bandaid

**Author's Note:**

> (Bluh, this reads much better at the meme, sorry...)

The sword in your gut hurts less than you expected. Of course, you realize blearily, that’s probably due to the fact that it’s embedded in your spine.

Feathery lil bro is laying next to you, eyes squinched up in pain, and not just the physical. You have to admit a little bit of of smug joy when you saw how orange his bright little peepers were. Matching set, yo.

You rub at your own eyes - exposed now, bastard Jack made off with your shades - brain feeling fuzzy and world out of focus. Shock, you think, putting a word to fact.

You almost miss Jack reappearing, blade still doused with scarlet and ichor. You half-heartedly glare. He sneers. “Bast’d,” you mumble, feeling very, very tired.

Dave stiffens as the snarling laugh, tentatively turning his head to check out the villain straddling his tail.

Jack kicks him casually, grinning when your little bro growls in response. Then the mishmash monster sprouts the tentacles again, binding Dave’s wrists to the hilt of the sword, arms wrapped around the blade. You catch sight of frightened orange eyes before Jack boots him again, expelling a grunt and ramming the kid’s head into your side.

You try and fail to reach up to the living ropes, unable to free your baby brother. You direct a sidelong glance at the obsidian thing, wondering what the hell he’s up to.

You quickly get an answer. You don’t want it.

\------

The brat whimpers in pain as you spread feathers, looking vainly for a hole. When you fail to locate one, the sword comes out, carving a spot in his stupid bright tail. Kid clamps his mouth shut, grits his teeth, like he did whenever you hit him in the fight. Steely. You can respect that.

The blade slides back into your belly as something else unsheathes itself. The big guy’s eyes widen, mouth going downturned and tense as he gets the picture. You smirk.

He tries to swat you away, cover or pull the kid towards himself, but he’s getting weaker by the second and doesn’t have the reach. You ignore his efforts and jab into the bleeding hole, sighing with much-needed relief. The brat grunts and writhes, cutting himself on his binding post. You don’t care.

All you know is this big bastard gave you a lot of trouble (even if it was fun) and the little orange thing is precious to him, somehow. That’s all you know, and that’s all you need.

\------

The seesawing movements are nauseating, and you are desperate for an end.You nearly puke when you feel something sticky and hot expelled over your side, stinging the already aching hole. It’s disgusting, horrifying, but at least it’s over. You try to sag against Bro, and realize that it’s not.

\------

He grabs Dave and flips him on his back, wings crushing on the hard ground and wound pressing, sticky and heartbreaking, against yours. You left coherency what feels like hours ago, pleas and curses tumbling from your lips. You pause, exhausted, out of breath, and catch the glimmer in those pure white eyes.

He’s doing this to hurt _you_ , and it does. Your litany only pushed him further, and now your baby brother is paying the price for your stupidity.

Dave finally screams, this time not out of pain - not _just_ out of pain - but with what you realize to be shame. Jack’s - you don’t want to see, but you can’t look away - the fucker is grinding against your teenage brother, forcing him into unwanted - has to, has to be unwanted - arousal. Dave whimpers, writhing against you, twisted arms scored by your own blade and eyes full of pale orange tears.

\------

His wings find a way free and snap out, flapping and buffeting against your head. It’s annoying, so you make it stop.

\------

Oh god it hurts so bad make it stop

\------

You didn’t think you had breath left, but you manage a scream, ironically - no _fuck no_ \- harmonizing with Dave’s as that **monster** bodily rips one wing away, spattering the three of you with violent orange blood. Your brother keens, rolling on his side and sheltering the other one under his body, and you can’t blame him. Your vision goes white with pain as the appendage brushes the hole in your stomach, but you can still feel the black bastard rutting against you - against him against you - and you can still hear Dave’s sobs.

A rough cry echoes across the landscape just as sight returns - Jack sprays white across Dave’s feathered abdomen, reaches down and forces Dave to do the same. You can’t speak, can’t scream, just cry and cry and can’t do a thing as those black fingers dig into your baby brother’s side and _rip_.

\------

That was fun.

\------

He finally, finally, _fucking finally **leaves**_.

\-----

You don’t remember when Jack walked away - or teleported, or whatever the fuck. All you can focus on, and barely that, is the tiny form before you, the solid, quaking weight on your belly. You run shaking fingers through your brother’s hair as he weeps - you’ve long since run out of tears. Your breath stutters and Dave looks up, over his shades - then away just as quick. A much colder weight sinks into your gut as you realize - you realize he’s _ashamed_.

No. Fuck no.

“Br’...” you cough, “Lil bro.”

He looks up at you, face all kinds of orange from tears and flushing blood. You stroke his soft, feathery hair, lose your track for a moment. You blink, make reality come back.

“Wasn’t...” you cough several times, enough to make him prop up on the good arm, braced on the other side of you. Your hand shakes even worse, falls to his shoulder. He looks concerned. “Was’n yer fault,” you mumble, and his eyes widen. “Not a fuck’n thing either a us coulda done...”

You cough again, and he sits painfully up, clasps your hand. A tear runs into your ear, and you chuckle darkly .“W’ll, that ain’ true, I coulda been...I coulda been less of a fuckup. Coulda protected you.”

Tears track down your face, more than you thought you had left. You can’t feel anything below your ribcage. “I’m so sorry,” you choke. “I’m so sorry, Dave, I shoulda...I should h’ve kept ya safe, an I didn’. ‘M sorry....”

Your bro leans down, wraps his arms around your shoulder, cries into your chest. “Fuck, Bro, no, don’t do this...” You run your hand down his feathered back, wincing at the stickiness of blood.

“M....so proud of you....love ya, Dave....m’boy.....always have....”

Your hand falls away, and this time you can’t lift it. More than tears blur your vision. You thought you would die with a smile, but you can’t muster the strength.

\------

She looks up at you, and for a second you reel, remembering the last - the last time that someone locked teary eyes with you. The Derringer is heavy in your hand, and once more you are glad of the shades.

“...Dave?”

“Sup.”

You can see her heart break as she looks at you. “Are you okay?”

You pull breath in, past the weight in your chest. “Been better.”


End file.
